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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29854521">A Coward's Ending</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_black_coffee/pseuds/one_black_coffee'>one_black_coffee</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, But also, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Sad Ending, Stanley Uris Has OCD, im only kind of sorry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 23:56:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,613</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29854521</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_black_coffee/pseuds/one_black_coffee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Bill shifted closer to Stan, an arm around his waist and the other stroking Stan’s hair. “Do you want to talk about it?”</p><p>“Another nightmare. The Flute Lady again.” Stan sighed, melting into the feeling of Bill’s fingers in his hair and his hand under Stan’s shirt, pressed into his skin.</p><p>“Did she say anything?”</p><p>Stan shook his head. “She never does. It’s like it’s all in my head until… until she’s right there, biting into me."</p><p>--------------------------</p><p>Stan has a nightmare and talks to Bill about it</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Coward's Ending</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Stanley wasn’t alone and he knew it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could hear the </span>
  <em>
    <span>swish </span>
  </em>
  <span>of her dress, the pad of her bare, grimy feet against the sewer floor. The way her flute dragged against the floor in a quiet, metallic grind that set Stan’s ears prickling and his skin itching. He could </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel </span>
  </em>
  <span>her. Somewhere, her eyes caught on him, trapped him. There was nowhere to go, no one to save him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie, Eddie, Mike, Bill, they were all somewhere else. They’d left him behind. Even Bev and Ben had gone on ahead. He was alone, desperately looking around the sewer for any sights of his friends--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Until he wasn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Until he was stuck in one spot, pivoting like a broken music box ballerina, flashlight in hand as he shook. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>swish</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>grind.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He was alone with her. None of his friends would come back for him. They left him there. They left behind the weak link. The coward. The OCD ridden Jew who made obscure jokes no one found funny. Everyone else went on ahead to kill IT because they were all useful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie was brave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie had a mouth so loud he could bully IT to death.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben and Mike could piece together the information they needed faster than anyone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bev was the perfect shot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Bill was the perfect leader.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stan was nothing. He was scared and shaking. He had stood in front of Bill, half to tears, and told him</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(No! No next time, Bill!)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>that was the end of the monster-dead-brother hunting. He’d left, swearing they were done. He’d cried and he’d cried, cowardice dripping in every tear. Every reckless, stupid thing he’d done had been be cause of The Losers. Walking into the fucking sewers was Bill’s idea. Blowing off reading the Torah was because Richie wanted to play Street Fighter. Stan would have practiced his reading until his tongue was swollen. He would have passed by the Barrens and the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking</span>
  </em>
  <span> sewers. He would have played it safe, fall into his role.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The coward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wouldn’t have been left behind to be eaten by some alien-demon-clown while his friends achieved their victories and celebrated without him. The Flute Lady wouldn’t be watching him from the shadows with her twisted face and pointed teeth and flaking, gray skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But maybe that’s what he deserved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To be shoved down against the concrete of the sewers, screaming for anyone to just fucking </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(help? love? save?)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>find him. For the last thing he ever saw to be the splitting open of her face, her jaw widening to impossible sizes as more and more rows of teeth sharp enough to rip open flesh with a single glance appeared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe that’s what cowards deserved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Painful, lonely deaths. Deaths that no one, not even their closest friends, would mourn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Stanley Uris was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>coward</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His cries of pain as teeth slipped into his flesh, tearing open jagged wounds, he muffled himself. He clenched his fists by his sides, locked his knees, determined not to fight back. If he was going to die a coward’s death, he’d at least have some pride. He knew he deserved exactly what he was getting. The Losers were too good for him; amazing individuals who were worth something together and alone. Stan… liked birds. He was good for nothing, not even as sacrifice for the final kill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d all left him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he was going to die alone, on the dirty</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(dirty, dirty, dirty dirty dirtydirtydirtydiRTYDIRTYDIRTYDIRTY)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>sewer floor. The fucking clown biting his face off and the only people he’d ever truly thought cared for him probably miles away, plugging their ears to the sounds of his distress.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(this is what you deserve, Stanley)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(this is what happens when you aren’t brave like the others, Stanley)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(this is what happens when you don’t read your Torah, Stanley)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(this is what happens when you can’t stand to look at Bev, Stanley)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(this is what happens when you linger on Bill too long, Stanley)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(this is what happens to people like you, Stanley)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(this is what you deserve, Stanley)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was dark when he opened his eyes. His heart hammered in his chest, practically climbing up his throat. The words of his dream echoed through his mind, stinging his eyes with unwanted saltwater and forcing him to stay still in his bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was cold, too. The vent was blowing cool air directly towards his bed. His skin still felt clammy with sweat. The scars lining the outside of his face burned but Stan dug his hands into the comforter, willing himself to stay still. It would all be over soon, he told himself. The burning would die down, the tingling feeling in his limbs would fade, the images burned into his memory of those teeth would be swept away by more pleasant images.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He just had to hold still. If he stayed still, reality couldn’t touch him. Those all too real memories would have to back away and leave him be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stayed still.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closed his eyes and counted down, breathing in sync with his counting and forcing his heart rate down. Knuckles turned white where they gripped the sheets but Stan stayed completely still.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stan?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(don’t do this)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice was clear, a welcoming beacon of light in Stan’s hazey world.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Stan, please don’t--)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bill?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m right here.” Stan didn’t dare open his eyes. He’d rather die with his eyes shut tight, avoiding whatever demonic presence may or may not be looming over him</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(coward!)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>than die facing it dead on. But the gentle feeling of Bill’s sleep-warmed skin sliding against Stan’s own was so, so much better than his delirious mind’s imagined feel of Pennywise’s hot breath on his cheeks. Bill was safe. Bill was home. Bill was everything Stan wanted and needed. A grounding arm around his shoulders, delicate lips pressing even more delicate kisses against Stan’s own skin, leaving faded marks no one would ever see.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill shifted closer to Stan, an arm around his waist and the other stroking Stan’s hair. “Do you want to talk about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Another nightmare. The Flute Lady again.” Stan sighed, melting into the feeling of Bill’s fingers in his hair and his hand under Stan’s shirt, pressed into his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did she say anything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stan shook his head. “She never does. It’s like it’s all in my head until… until she’s right there, biting into me. I was standing in the sewers again with my flashlight, calling out for you and The Losers and all the thoughts going on inside my head were-- were amplified. I could hear them all around me, like someone was narrating my life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill leaned forward to kiss Stan’s cheek. “Do you remember what some of the thoughts were?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stan tensed slightly. He always remembered his nightmares vidly. Everything, every word and every feeling, stuck with him for days after. “That I’m a coward. I don’t deserve you. I deserved to die alone in those sewers. Cowards</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(flamers, pretty boys, jews)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>deserve to die slow, agonisingly painful deaths. I should have taken the opportunity and rid the world of another disgusting freak of nature.” The rest of his words got stuck in the back of his throat. He’d told himself those things an uncountable number of times, knowing they were all true, but they never seemed to get any easier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The burning of his scars only increased as salt water trickled down the sides of his face. He twitched with every stifled sob</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(quit it, sissy, or Father will hear)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>and drove his hands further into the sheets. The words swarmed around him, cutting him off from Bill. Warmth was gone. Grounding was lost. The world crumbled, peeling back to reveal nothing more than endless darkness where words as sharp as razors and as scalding as fire whipped against his skin, breaking him open again and again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could barely even feel his own body. The arms next to him were only attached to him by threads, the legs, the same. Tears tickled his nose and pooled in his ears. Sobs tensed his stomach and shoulders. He opened his mouth to scream; only the barest whimper escaped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shh, Stan, you’re gonna be okay.” Bill’s voice was distant but more real than anything else. Stan clung to it. The tender hands that brushed against Stan carefully brought nerves back to life, helping Stan climb back into his body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The crying wasn’t helped. He turned his head, burying it in something soft--- Stan kept his eyes firmly shut but could see himself tucked against Bill’s neck behind his eyelids. Bill didn’t pull away from Stan’s tears. He held him close, combing through his hair and whispering promises.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m right here.” He pressed a kiss behind Stan’s ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m never going to leave you.” He reached down to find one of Stan’s hands in the mess of sheets and took it in his own. Stan let him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to be okay.” Bill squeezed Stan’s hand three times, the words Stan couldn’t bear to hear aloud but couldn’t live without.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You aren’t a coward. You’re so, so brave. We need you. We can’t-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> can’t live without you, Stanley.” Stan sobbed against Bill’s shoulder, shattering under Bill’s hands. His mind wasn’t connected to reality enough to care that he was letting Bill close enough to hold the breaking pieces of his self together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stan felt cautious pressure against his eyelids, Bill’s hand on his cheek as he kissed his closed eyes. “No one deserves to die alone. No one deserves to die unloved. And you </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> will, Stanley Uris. Because you have us. You have me. You’ll always have me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stan felt himself nod. He didn’t believe a single word Bill said but he wanted so badly for his words to be true. To be loved, to be wanted. To not be a coward for once. To </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>Bill. He was weak and exactly what he wanted most in the world was being whispered in his ears between kisses that were slowly taking him apart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And don’t ever,” Bill said, hugging Stan closer to his chest, “think you’re a freak of nature. You’re perfect. You’re beautiful. You’re smart and funny and everything anyone could ever want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stan shook, biting his lip to hold back the sobs that threatened to rip his throat to shreds. “But-- But I’m not, Billy,” He hiccupped. “I’m damaged and so </span>
  <em>
    <span>broken</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I’m a fucking freak. I-- I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>deserve</span>
  </em>
  <span> this life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Broken doesn’t mean that you don’t deserve friends and someone to love you. Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have someone who’s willing to hold you after a nightmare and let you cry. Broken means you need help, is all.” He threaded his fingers in Stan’s hair, lightly scratching his scalp with his nails. “We’re all broken. The seven of us are fucked up more than anyone else will ever know. But we all belong together. We all fit together. We’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Losers</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Stanny.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again, Stan nodded. He wanted to belong somewhere. He had found a home with The Losers and hearing Bill confirm that wasn’t something he could pass up. Even if he couldn’t believe it was true.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re okay. I’m here. It was just a nightmare. None of it was true.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(and what if none of this is true?)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill’s breath fanned across Stan’s skin. Anyone else, and Stan would have lost his mind. But Bill was Bill. His breath was quiet and warm and didn’t make Stan cringe. In fact, Stan only melted further into the softness beside him, reveling in every gentle pass of Bill’s skin against his. Every stroke of thumb that brushed away more tears before tracing Stan’s lips made his breathing slow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Billy?” Stan’s voice was thick with tears and unsteady.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you leave me in the sewers?” He didn’t know why he asked it. Perhaps because he wanted a reason to throw himself head first back into a panic attack or a mental breakdown. Perhaps he wanted the opposite: the opportunity to cling to the idea that they hadn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> left him, there had just been a huge misunderstanding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Stan,” Bill whispered. “We didn’t leave you. We would never leave you. You’re one of us and we don’t leave each other behind. We just got separated. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(how? Bev had been not a foot in front before--)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It must have been Pennywise. Pulling some trick on us to make us weak. We couldn’t hurt IT without you. You’re so important to us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(he knows exactly what to say)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m important to you?” Stan asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course you are! You’re our friend! All of your jokes and comments and facts about birds are important to us. To me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stan sniffled, feeling Bill wipe away a track of slower tears. His crying had quieted down while listening to Bill. Not completely, he felt too</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(alone)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>hollow for the tears to have completely dried up. “Do you promise me you’ll be here tomorrow, Billy? That you won’t leave me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill kissed Stan’s forehead. “I promise you. I’ll be here no matter what.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stan sighed. Dried skin around his eyes stung terribly from the tears and the puffed up scars from the sewers itched but Stan leaned into the giving body next to him. He wasn’t alone anymore. He had Bill and Bill promised he would always be there. Bill didn’t break his promises. Stan wouldn’t be alone again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Th-thank you, Bill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(stutter)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“For what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(stutter?)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“For being here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(does Bill stutter?)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, Stan, you know I’m always here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(where’s his stutter?)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Stan didn’t want to open his eyes. “What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(open your eyes, Stanley)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what I mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(open)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“No--”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(them)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Open your eyes, Stanley.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was dark when he opened his eyes. Cold, too. The vent hadn’t stopped its assault of cold air. The blankets pulled over his shoulders were the only source of warmth Stan could find. The second pillow pulled against his side was damp and mildly warm to the touch from Stan’s own body heat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stan sat up, fumbling around his mattress in search of something, anything, to prove Bill had been there. To prove that all the promises and assurances were real. That Bill had promised. That he would never be alone, that he would always have Bill. But all he found was crumpled sheets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. No, no, no--” He curled into himself, pulling his knees to his chest and desperately shaking his head. It was real. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>to have been real. He could feel Bill’s touches, hear his words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crescents were left as welts on his palms where he dug his fingernails into his skin in</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(pathetic)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>a frantic attempt to bring back the reality in which he had been so comfortably wrapped up in Bill’s presence earlier. He rocked back and forth violently, muttering to himself, begging </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> to bring Bill back, to let him have </span>
  <em>
    <span>just one thing</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The darkness hung over him in a smothering grip. Even his quiet pleas for the ending of such terrible suffering--- that dug into his bones and froze them until they ached too much to even withstand the burden of movement; that wrung is mind until it could hardly be quieted down enough to sit through a class anymore--- barely cut through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not even for long. I promise I’d give him back. He deserves better, I know. But he’s all I have left. Please. I-- I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be alone anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing answered his begs. The darkness hung and the silence dampened all noise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was completely alone.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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